


3 Times Harry Kissed Malfoy And One Time He Didn't

by Viwrit3r



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Falling In Love, Kissing, M/M, but they're both idiots, just a short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26871424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viwrit3r/pseuds/Viwrit3r
Summary: "Teenage lust he could deal with, but affection? For Malfoy? It was enough to drive a bloke mad."In which Harry is stupid but persistent, and Malfoy doesn't really know what he wants.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 83





	3 Times Harry Kissed Malfoy And One Time He Didn't

The first time Harry had kissed Malfoy, it ended with much yelling and a trip to the hospital wing.

Harry had done it, of course: at that point he had been half out of his mind with anger and longing and something else that felt far too much like affection. Teenage lust he could deal with, but affection? For Malfoy? It was enough to drive a bloke mad.

He’d punched Malfoy, too. (But only after the git had hit him first.)

Ron, who’d had to pull them apart, asked Harry what he’d done; “he’s not that bad anymore, y’know”, he’d said through a mouthful of toast. Even Hermione had remarked on how pale and shocked Malfoy had looked. 

“You didn’t bring up the War, did you, Harry?” She’d asked. “You know how hard it's been for him since the Trials.”

Harry did know. Maybe that was why he’d kissed him. 

But he knew that was wrong; he didn’t kiss Malfoy because he wanted to save him. Kissing Malfoy was the most selfish thing he’d done in years. 

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t tell them.

The second time Harry kissed Malfoy, it wasn’t his fault. (Or at least that’s what he told himself, trying not to get lost in the silver-grey of Malfoy’s eyes.)

How was he supposed to not kiss him when Malfoy sat so close to him, when he looked at him like that, when he called him Harry in a low voice. 

(Harry didn’t think he’d ever heard Malfoy call him by his first name before. It did funny things to his stomach. And… other parts.) 

Malfoy’s lips were soft and warm and there was a world of difference between this kiss and their last; their last kiss had been all anger and teeth and had started and ended with fighting. This kiss was all pressure and warmth and the slow movement of Harry’s mouth against Malfoys.

Then Malfoy bit down, hard, on Harry’s lip. Harry yelled, rearing backwards, the iron-laced taste of blood filling his mouth.

“What the…” he sputtered, realising with a surge of guilt that Malfoy hadn’t actually told him he wanted to kiss him, hadn’t said a word, and that maybe after the last time, Harry should’ve taken the hint… He remembered, too late, the talk Hermione had had with him and Ron about consent… At the time it had just seemed like another one of Hermione’s campaigns.  
He had been so sure that Malfoy wanted him to kiss him. But he hadn’t asked.

“Malfoy, I…” He’s ready to apologize, frantic, ready to see the anger in Malfoy’s face. But Malfoy’s face was drained, pale… Harry realized with a burst of shock that Malfoy looked deeply, terribly sad. And somehow, that was a million times worse.

He stared, deep grey eyes like the ocean’s winter storm holding him captive. “I,” he swallowed.

Malfoy didn’t say anything. He seemed frozen in place; for one awful, terrible moment Harry thought he was going to cry, but instead he just turned around and strode away.

Leaving Harry standing there, dumbstruck, with blood filling his mouth. 

Alone. 

It was a hint to the nature of Ron, Hermione, and Harry’s long friendship that they didn’t even look surprised when he showed up in the common room dripping blood. 

“No luck, mate?” Ron asked sympathetically, while Hermione pulled out her wand and briskly healed Harry’s lip. Harry dropped into an armchair and held his head in his hands.

“I - it was going so well,” he said weakly, not looking either of them in the eye. “I really thought he wanted it, but - well I didn’t ask, and I should’ve, Hermione. I know. But I just - and then he bit me.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed. “I told you - well, I suppose you know, now. And I was sure that Draco like you…” She trailed off, looking pensive.

“I think she might be more upset about being wrong than about you striking out with the Ferret," Ron whispered to Harry. 

"Ronald, what did I say about calling Draco that?" Hermione said, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. "And you're wrong, for your information! Of course I feel bad for Harry. It's just, I was talking to Pansy, and she really made it seem -"

"Pansy Parkinson?" Harry asked, interest piqued. "What did she say?" 

"I - Well, I dare say I shouldn't tell you, as it was told to me in confidence - Oh, don't look at me like that, Harry, it was!”

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron said exasperatedly. “What was the point of mentioning it if you weren’t going to tell us?”

Hermione pursed her lips. “Well, I didn’t expect Harry to come back looking like he’d killed someone! Clearly Pansy’s information was wrong,” she huffed. “Anyway, I don’t see what it matters now, as Draco has made it very clear that he doesn’t want Harry to kiss him. Right, Harry?”

“I - Er - Right,” Harry said, under Hermione’s quelling look. Inside he was reeling. There was a chance, an actual, real chance, that Malfoy liked him? His brain seemed to have short-circuited; he’d kissed Malfoy, sure, but - 

Well. Hearing it possibly confirmed made the whole situation entirely different. He supposed the only thing for it was to try to talk to Malfoy, as much as that idea made him nauseous. He could really use some of that old Gryffindor courage. 

The third time Harry kissed Malfoy, it felt like everything. Malfoy’s lips were warm against his and he sighed into Harry’s mouth.

Their first kiss was all blood and fire and clashing teeth. This kiss was soft lips and pressure and Malfoy oh so gently taking him apart. 

Harry broke away, breathing heavily, and laid his forehead against Malfoy’s. “Hey,” he said softly. Malfoy’s eyes were like deep pools, grey flecked with silver, drawing Harry in. He reached out and cupped Malfoy’s face, gently stroking his thumb along Malfoy’s cheekbone.

“Hey,” Malfoy responded thickly. He pushed his hair out of his eyes, the thick, untidy sprawl so different from when he used to slick it back that Harry felt another one of those pesky surges of affection.

“Well, Potter,” Malfoy said briskly. “I suppose now that you’ve had your fun, you’ll leave me alone? I let you kiss me, it was nice – “

“Nice?” Harry sputtered. “I – “

“You’ve gotten it out of your system,” Malfoy continued, as if Harry hadn’t spoken. “And now we can go back to being reluctant, well, friends, I suppose, in the spirit of reconciliation, and we can forget this ever happened.”

“Got it out of my system?” Harry suddenly felt as if he had been dropped in the middle of some sort of nightmare. He had no idea what Malfoy was talking about. Why was he going on about being friends? Harry didn’t want to be friends. Harry wanted to hold Malfoy down and kiss him until the other boy was gasping and breathless. Harry wanted to wake up with Malfoy wrapped around him.

Harry wanted – well, it didn’t much seem to matter. Malfoy clearly didn’t feel the same way. Harry tried not to let the rejection sting to much.

“I didn’t mean – well, I’m sorry, Malfoy,” he said softly.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Potter,” Malfoy sneered. “Don’t go getting the idea that you forced yourself on me or anything. Don’t get me wrong, I like blokes as much as you apparently do, and you’re fit enough, I suppose. And who wouldn’t want to kiss the Savior? You just shocked me those other times, is all. And, well,” here Malfoy looked a little embarrassed. “I thought maybe you might have been having me on, you know. To try to humiliate me. Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened,” he muttered.

Suddenly Harry was furious. “People have done that?”

“Yes, well, it’s such a jolly good time to humiliate the Death Eater, you know,” Malfoy said bitterly.

“That’s – That’s awful,” Harry said sincerely.

“Well, I don’t know about awful. I probably deserve it. But anyway – don’t go getting your Savior’s knickers in a twist about this, Potter, do you hear me? It’s not a big deal and anyways, I dealt with them well enough.”

Harry was too full of feelings to really hear Malfoy – embarrassment and confusion from his rejection, relief from hearing that he hadn't just forced himself on the other boy, and anger at whoever had messed with him.

“Right,” he managed, mind spinning.

Malfoy gave him a kind, if pitying, look. But as Harry studied his face, he thought he caught a glimpse of something else in his eyes – pain, or a strange vulnerability, quickly masked. Malfoy walked away, tossing a quick, “see you, Potter,” over his shoulder.

Harry slumped against the wall, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. There was a pit in the depths of his stomach that was filled with sadness and bubbling embarrassment. Had his feelings been that obvious? A little voice in the back of Harry’s head that couldn’t help reminding him that Malfoy had just admitted to being gay. Malfoy was gay.

Malfoy had kissed him back, and told him he was gay, and Harry wasn’t sure how he was supposed to forget the taste of Malfoy’s mouth, or the little noises he made when he was turned on.

He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to forget him.

A week later, Harry sat in the Great Hall under a grey and rainy sky, which matched his mood perfectly. Even the owls were quieter than usual, bedraggled and wet feathers dripping on the tablecloths while their owners dried them off with charms of varying success.

He picked listlessly at his eggs and bacon, trying to ignore the gnawing pit in his stomach. He was aware of Ron and Hermione exchanging worried glances over his head, but he was too tired to care.

Against his will, he glanced up, scanned the Hall, the Slytherin table - looking for Draco. Draco, who seemed so - so alive, in the days since they kissed, always laughing or gesturing wildly or just being there, pinked cheeks and shiny hair and his eyes glowing. 

Harry had never known anyone with eyes like Draco’s.

But Draco didn’t want him like that, he reminded himself. It was just a kiss, for him. 

Draco probably didn’t wake up heartsick, didn’t dream of Harry like Harry did of him.

Harry just had so much want inside him, it was filling him up and he was pretty sure one of these days it was going to spill out onto his face and then everyone would know that he was in love with Draco Malfoy.

I’m in love with Draco Bloody Malfoy, he thought to himself. 

Suddenly he couldn’t handle it, sitting there sick with want while Draco drank his tea - two sugars, no milk, just like always - and talked to his friends, like nothing happened, like Harry hadn’t had his tongue inside his mouth, hadn’t wanted more. 

He stood up, shoving his chair back far too loudly, so that everyone at the Gryffindor table looked at him. 

“I have to - I have to go,” he said to Ron and Hermione, who looked worried. “I’ll see you guys in class. 

He’d made it nearly to the doors when he heard his name being called, the breathless shout of “Potter,” that made him stop in his tracks.

“Malfoy,” he said coolly, even though his body sang out at the sight of Draco - and when had he become Draco in his mind? - standing in front of him with a blush working it’s way up his cheeks. 

“Are you - That is, I was wondering if you were alright.”

“I’m fine, Malfoy. Though I don’t really see why you care.” Draco paled a bit at that, and Harry felt viciously, vindictively happy. 

“I actually was wondering if it would be possible for us to talk, Potter, if you think you can handle that?”

Harry was painfully aware of the silence of the Great Hall behind them. “Do we really have to do this here, Malfoy? In front of the entire school?” 

“Can you just like, shut up for one second?” Malfoy said, and suddenly he looked nervous. “Okay, Potter? Because I just - well, I just wanted to talk to you, without the other two-thirds of the bloody Golden Trio watching us!”

“Fine,” Harry said. Malfoy stared at him, swallowing. “Well,” Harry demanded. “Get on with it.”

“I -” Malfoy seemed to deliberate with himself. “I like you, Potter.”

If there was one thing Harry couldn’t stand, it was when Malfoy didn’t make any bloody sense. 

“What are you talking about,” he said, absolutely flabbergasted. “Like - I don’t even know what you’re saying right now.”

“I’m saying I like you, Potter,” Malfoy said. He looked strangely unperturbed about this whole situation. “And that I’m sorry for...Y’know. For earlier.” 

“Oh, are you,” Harry said, and he’s truly, properly mad now, and he’s not even sure how it happened and he didn’t want to be yelling at Malfoy in front of the entire Great Hall but here he is. “For earlier? Would that be when you nearly bit my lip off? Or maybe, when you nearly let me believe I had forced myself on you, and you had just let me kiss out of some, I dunno, misguided sense of pity when you were clearly enjoying it? Or maybe, MAYBE, it was when you just walked away with nothing more than a “see you, Potter,” before ignoring me for a week? Is that what you were talking about, Malfoy?” 

Malfoy swallowed, and Harry’s eyes were drawn to the way his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. 

“I’m sorry for all of it, Potter. I had some things I needed to figure out, but I shouldn’t have gotten you involved and I actually enjoyed kissing you and now I’ve screwed it all up and I’m sorry, okay?” 

“No.” Harry scrubbed his hands through his hair. “No, it’s not, because I care about you, and you - you messed me up, okay? It hurt when you walked away. I haven’t - I didn’t -”

But then Malfoy was kissing him, and Harry found that he didn’t really care about what he had been trying to say anymore, because Malfoy was cupping his jaw with his hand and kissing Harry soft and sweet and slow, like Harry was his everything.

Like maybe - just maybe - Malfoy felt something like how Harry did. And Harry could hear the shocked gasps and whispers of the students behind him, as he wound his hands in Malfoy’s hair and let himself melt into Malfoy, into the height and strength of him.

And he knew that this didn’t fix anything, that just because they could finally admit that there was something between them didn’t make them a perfect couple. 

But for the first time it felt like there could be something more, like Harry could have something, something for himself, something warm and bright and happy. 

Something with Malfoy.


End file.
